SANParks.org ForumsDiscussing the National Parks of South Africa2011-09-29T01:03:36+02:00http://www.sanparks.org/forums/feed.php?f=27&t=407592011-09-29T01:03:36+02:00http://www.sanparks.org/forums/viewtopic.php?t=40759&p=1557505#p1557505I've just drafted a new episode, but then Flickr decided to refuse me access to its website - something about the password being no longer valid! I've contacted the support staff and am waiting for a reply. Will be back with this tale as soon as they release the pics.

]]>2011-07-19T18:30:38+02:00http://www.sanparks.org/forums/viewtopic.php?t=40759&p=1506520#p1506520Përshëndetje all. Beyond the stirring lion sighting early in the morning, the day seems to bear little more than heat and a conglomeration of sparse sightings as we turn up the S28, and later return via the tar to camp. Yet, in a sense, it is a time to gather in the delights all around, to focus in on the seldom-noticed smaller things, to stretch upwards and suck in deep breaths of warm sweetness, to reflect that every moment in Kruger is one of special oneness with it all. There is, in reality, no such thing as a time of paucity in this land of innumerable plenty.

Here a few of those captured sighting moments, which in essence does little justice to the overall intricate interwoven blanket of wondrous spiritual texture that envelops my enthralled soul.

]]>2011-07-11T17:05:37+02:00http://www.sanparks.org/forums/viewtopic.php?t=40759&p=1498935#p1498935Katja, it was indeed fantastic just sitting there, revelling in the magnificence of a southern pride that was fully healthy and doing what they were born to - to be highly intelligent apex predators. Sometimes you can be fooled into thinking they're cute little pussycats, that they want to be stroked and patted until they purr; and then you realise that they are powerful, emphatic, efficient predators that could eliminate a human in a split second. It is that realisation that makes one so awed to be in their presence, and then still to see supreme motherly love and fatherly protection from what we deem to be lower beings. We are blessed to have such a fantastic wildlife sanctuary - let's hope that greed and corruption does not reduce it to what happened to many other African parks.

]]>2011-07-11T15:07:52+02:00http://www.sanparks.org/forums/viewtopic.php?t=40759&p=1498795#p1498795"LI-ON," we yell together, so instinctively that we are almost afraid that our outburst might scare the great cats away. Not a chance - these lions are so used to the traffic that rushes to and fro between Croc Bridge and Lower Sabie that our puny shouts have no effect. Thank goodness, we silently breathe, each reading the other's thoughts - as we so often do.

This is a pride of a male, two females, and two cubs, wending their way through the bush towards the tar. As they reach the verge of the road - and while I am trying to juggle steering, freeing my camera, freeing my binocs, and staring - they hesitate but a moment only, and then after a nonchalant sneer from the male, and a direct-eye-contact yawn from one of his ladies, they promptly plop down as if they were land-claim owners securing their territory.

The soft desert-like sand they're lying on is the remnants of the layers that officials often use to coat newly-tarred roads in Kruger, and they're obviously attracted to its ability to absorb early-morning solar warmth, as well as having a cushion-like prop to ease the separation between their powerful muscles and the hard tarmac.

Most strangely, after fifteen minutes there still isn't a single car in sight besides our own! Bizarre, to say the least, especially as this is a busy entrance/exit gate for the Park. But, as any seasoned mite knows when such things occur - enjoy the tranquility while it lasts! It also allowed me to manoeuver the car into a spot slightly behind and to the side of the pride, giving me the best viewing opportunities.

Here are some of the photographs that I am able to capture at close range this beautiful Spring morning:

One of the females displaying her healthy beauty for all to admire.

This king has a magnificent mane, obviously seldom "combed and teased" by thorn trees.

One of the cubs sidles over to suckle.

And after mom has been sucked dry ...

The cub snuggles up for a session of appreciation and love ...

Before settling down for that joyous, enveloping maternal bond that all of us have been infused with from a very young age ...

As perfect a love as one can experience!

Meanwhile, the other cub is contented merely to hang out with his dad and mom, seemingly without intention to fill up on the highest-octane nutrition nature could supply him.

After almost forty minutes with these magic regal moments, and because a traffic jam was finally snarling its ugly way into the naturalness of it all, we decided to continue up the tar towards Lower Sabie.

]]>2011-06-27T10:42:34+02:00http://www.sanparks.org/forums/viewtopic.php?t=40759&p=1487225#p1487225I am usually a restless sleeper at night in Kruger - one ear semiconsciously listening out for a telltale sound of unusual nocturnal excitement, which is aided by being in a tent this trip; the other ear jammed into the pillow to muffle as much noise as possible so that I can at least get some shuteye. On second thought, yet another paradox that seems to dot my life at intervals, but one that allows me both vigilance and sleep at the same time.

At least one cannot hear external civilisation from Crocodile Bridge tonight - there have been times in the past where distant yelping dogs, road hammers, and an early biplane spraying the farmlands have disturbed my submersion in heaven - and, after an unknown amount of sleep, I eventually am thrown into confusion by the sound of dogs barking frantically in tune. For a moment I am mightily surprised, as the dogs sound like they're just outside the tent; yes, there is a staff house almost behind us - must be theirs?

I am about to get up and check, when I realise that it is my ringtone: "Who let the Dog's Out?". I heave a sigh of relief and promptly go back to sleep! Normally we're out at the crack of dawn - I've often wondered why the night has to be "cracked" in order for dawn to begin - but today I am unusually tired (perhaps the "muffling ear" didn't do its job properly this time?).

"But don't they close until half-past six?" I mumble, still half-asleep.

"Morning, it's morning!"

"Oh, good morning; you mean I have to get up?"

"Yesssss," says Aimee, rolling her eyes, her chin down in that Has-Your-IQ-Reached-Idiocy-Level look.

"Okay, let's go find some wild-dog," I mutter, raising my weary head and throwing the blankets and sheets off in a dramatic entry into the day. "And maybe we'll even settle for a leopard or a cheetah," I suggest, swinging my legs to ground level.

"Or how about a caracal or a pangolin?" adds Aimee. "That's if the heat of the morning hasn't scared them off yet!"

I smile and shoot off to the ablutions. Ten minutes for a rapid shower, ten minutes to pack coffee and rusks just like Ouma used to make them, five minutes to chew on a piece of pork rib from last night, five minutes to get the camera and binoculars around my neck and close the hut and, just after six, we're in an idling car.

Aimee has a piece of liquorice dangling from her mouth like a thickened horsehair worm; I have another fatty pork rib sticking both out of the corner of my mouth and into my cheek.

"Okwee, lits g' see sm g'm," I tell Aimee, the rib shooting up and down like a car-jack's crank-handle.

Aimee laughs: "Lits do d't."

I wink at her as we sail between the whitewashed gate pillars, thinking what today will yield. In a challenging effort to consume the outer portion of a rib without using my hands, the thin object suddenly takes on a life of its own and shoots from the corner of my cheek, somersaulting forwards until it sticks fast against the windscreen, directly in my line of vision.

I pull over and remove the offending meat, wiping the fatty stain with a tissue. As the saturated lipids streak across the glass - I forgot to pack WetWipes, I suddenly realise - I see a movement in my right peripheral vision. I glance into the bush, but see nothing obvious. After a few moments, and realising that the semi-transparent marks on the windscreen will not be completely removed without water, I slowly move off.

Then another movement in the grass disturbs my peripheral vision yet again. I turn my gaze fully in that direction and Aimee and I see it together, the words forming on our lips simultaneously ...

]]>2010-12-24T12:57:22+02:00http://www.sanparks.org/forums/viewtopic.php?t=40759&p=1345394#p1345394It is a strange feeling exiting the Park when we should be inside its perimeters, and especially because, when I enter those bejewelled gates, I have no desire to see or smell the outside world: a place they call "civilisation", but which seldom shows much civility!

However, the exit-road from Crocodile Bridge gate continues, to some extent, the natural Park-bush, making me feel more comfortable with the idea of rushing in and out for a quick bite. Of course, my thunderous hunger-pangs remind me that Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs supercedes any thoughts of pride and purity!

We are gently tranquil as the little town of Komatipoort pops into view. A farmland on one side and then the few streets - poorly lit in parts - that indicate that human habitation has taken root and smothered most of the natural bush that adorned this ground for millions of years.

There is a cafe or two, but we have no desire to try untested food from a little shop whose hot-plates and oil have been smoking all day; the latter perhaps unchanged throughout the day. We see a conglomeration of vehicles outside a neatly cobbled pathway. A large, African-patterned, clay fountain also awaits. Since we see nothing to immediately attract the eye further down the road, we agree that we'll give this a try. Hope they've got take-aways, I wonder, as we tip-toe over the cobbles, past some inviting aloes and ferns.

A smiling girl greets us at the door, adjacent to a single, vertical pottery piece that stands alone in a vast entrance hall of rough-hewn tiles. The emptiness seems to be sucking us deeper inwards, patently to seat ourselves in the warmly-lit room behind. However, I know we shouldn't take advantage of the thoughtful Crocodile-Bridge manager's kindness, so I ask if they have take-aways. The girl is almost slightly thrown by this question - obviously, the decor and food there deserves a languishing, slow stay! - but, after she consults with a pleasantly smiling blonde carrying a kitchen towel, the answer is in the affirmative.

They don't have a take-away menu (that is obvious after the consultation that took place), but a neatly, leatherette-bound sit-down version. A cursory look reveals nothing that seems suitable for a take-away dinner. The smiling girl then notes that they have a 1kg pork-rib special for R90. In unison, my daughter and I agree. We're invited to take a seat in the bar, but I remind the girl that my daughter is only 10. She blushes and brings us two curved, smooth black chairs, placing them at one end of the vast entrance hall."Please take a seat; the food won't be long," she says sweetly.

Aimee and I sit down and admire spaceous, but strangely alluring, decor. The small-town tranquility is occasionally interrupted by the gentle clanging of kitchenware and a soft, kitchen word. After 20 minutes of seeing no other human, the smiling girl arrives from an antechamber and thanks us for our patience, suggesting the meal is on the way.

After 40 minutes, my buttock bones are pressing through the flesh, aided by the hard, black chairs. I begin to shift from side to side, then stand up and pace the well-ventilated room. A couple of African-theme paintings, hopefully by local artists, adorns two of the walls, with a vibrant black-and-earthenware colour-scheme gracing the other two walls.

I want to take some memorable photos of this quaint place, but discover that my memory stick is full. No time now to select pics for deletion, so I reseat myself and pretend to be nonchalant, despite my increasing wonder at the delay and my nagging intestines.

"I'm getting hungry," suggests Aimee in her little-girl, pleading voice. I step to the entrance of the back room, to see it empty. It is almost an hour now since we ordered our food. I have been tried and tested many times by the so-called "African Time" pace of doing things in small towns. Coming from a city, we try to be as patient as possible, but when the time to do anything exceeds double what we are used to, we begin to fidget and fret! The distant "thunder" is also becoming more importunate.

Deliberately, I step through the back room and into the kitchen. A chef is surprised by my appearance. Another staff member steps forward."We ordered our food an hour ago," I hear myself saying above the gentle din of the steam and sizzling fat. "Please could you tell us how long it will be as we need to get back to Crocodile Bridge!"

Off she slinks, to reappear a minute later with the smiling girl."I'm sorry," says the slightly-less-smiling girl; "we had a delay - it will be ready in ten minutes."No other patrons, unless they are stowed away in secret rooms; a single rack of ribs to cook - what could be the delay? Still, we're on holiday and I refuse to be sucked into a city-situation of stress and sidetracking."Okay," I acquiesce, my face a little pinched with anxiety.I treat my buttocks to the smooth, black chair once again.

Not five minutes later, out comes a take-away carton. We open it to see cut racks of ribs drenched in monkey-gland sauce. I thank the once-again-more-smiling girl, pay, and head back towards Kruger's gate, hoping they won't be too chagrinned at our delay.

The gate guard waves at us as we pass through, and we admire once again the flitting fireflies and languishing hippos by the low-water bridge. Soon we are at our tent, devouring the, I must admit, deliciously prepared pork ribs. Aimee breaks a record by eating an entire 500g at one sitting! She is proud of her accomplishment as we drift off to a well-earned sleep, the frogs see-sawing in their unique singsong ways, and a distant jackal reminding us that we are not city-bound, despite civilisation being a couple of kilometres away.

]]>2010-11-24T13:10:01+02:00http://www.sanparks.org/forums/viewtopic.php?t=40759&p=1320511#p1320511Cicadas are sharing their unique drone with us; a sound I have always associated with being on holiday! Some people find it irritating: we revel in their meditative song.

We stop on the bridge to admire the twilight setting on the Crocodile River. Above the warm water is a swarm of flitting fireflies, adding surreality to the scene.

We watch as a pied kingfisher hovers above the river in its characteristic flight pattern. Then it swoops, diving at ninety-degrees to the water's surface. We see the slight splash (it is streamlined enough to cause minimal surface disturbance), hear the plop, and, a few instances later, it rises, flapping its wings strongly as the weight of a hapless fish hangs from its beak.

It settles on a perch to enjoy its prize:

A group of hippos laze below the Prussian-blue sky, barely paying attention to our presence:

After enjoying the magnificence, we drive the short distance to the outer gate; the guard has been alerted and waves us through ...

We slide through the whitewashed pillars of camp with a nanosecond to spare - the guard is already beginning to close the wooden-slatted gates. We readjust our car clock to CBLT (Crocodile Bridge Local Time), noting that ours is a whole three minutes behind that.

We spruce up at the ablutions, then straight to the shop to find that, due to a delayed delivery on victuals, the meat selection is almost non-existent. A few minutes to shop-closing translates into inadequate time for take-aways and, with the braai option now depleted, we are beginning to contemplate testing our atrophied appendices on leaves and grass. Maybe there is a chance their primeval functioning could be resurrected? However, no matter of praying could achieve that in time for dinner and - we must admit it - the distant thunder is emanating from our lower-chest region.

"Maybe tinned short-spaghetti and rolls?" suggests Aimee.I pucker my nose at the thought, but the old adage that aligns beggars with choosers is stronger than my pride.We stare at the tinned food section, but no spaghetti either - only green beans in brine or tender baby peas. Bully-beef is too fattening and sliced ham is insufficient on its own. They really are short on stock!

"Rolls and cheese?" I try, with a final desperate frown. Aimee nods.We rush to the baked-flour shelf (the shop wants to close and we're holding up their sundowners), but the rolls are hard, the bread is squished, and the chelsea buns would give me heartburn.

"Hi Sir; can we help?" I see a dignified, well-spoken black man addressing me with a concerned smile. I look at his badge, which sadly for my English-trained brain, has an unpronounceable name attached. He sees me looking and helps me with the pronunciation, but as quickly as I say it, so rapidly has it flown from my memory. What is important to us at this moment, though, is that the badge also states that he is the camp manager.

"I know you're closing," I tell him, "but we can't seem to find anything that might cause our tummies to be satisfied."He is savvy enough to understand the situation in an instant. After all, he is the camp manager. "Sorry, Sir; but the deliveries are late. We don't have a restaurant here so, for this time only, would you like to get food in town?"

This is one of the last offers I expect from him, but I happily grab it as quickly as the vibration of his words stimulates my auditory nerve!"Thank you so very much!" I gush."It's a pleasure, Sir. I'll radio the gates. Give me five minutes, then go out the main gate, turn left behind the camp, go over the bridge, and the guard will let you through. Please make sure you're back by eight.

Aimee is beaming; I am grinning. We'd never had such an opportunity before; even though we know the road to the outside gate is very short (a few minutes at most), the thrill of self-driving after hours causes a great overflowing of joy to our core.

We leap into the car and drive the few metres to the main gate. The guard has been alerted and lets us through without question. Onto a bumpy service road along the camp fence, we crawl onto the main approach road from outside. Ahead, in the gloom, we see the low-water bridge over the Crocodile River.

Our hearts are burning with a radiant light, piercing the enveloping darkness with an unstoppable excitement ...

]]>2010-11-11T08:55:38+02:00http://www.sanparks.org/forums/viewtopic.php?t=40759&p=1306108#p1306108The ride back to Crocodile Bridge camp produces many "civet" sightings, each of us trying to outdo the other with the number we see. Perhaps, at this moment, we are losing the plot somewhat. Still, it is indeed lots of fun, both of us almost choking with laughter as we come across:

- a herd of 300 huge, horned civets crossing the road 5km from the gate ;- a flock of flying carrion-civets circling on the late-afternoon thermals ;- a long, narrow civet with a long tail scurrying across the dirt ;- a tiny crawling civet pushing some balled excrement ;- a twisty-horned civet staring at our intrusion ;- a rare sighting of a pink-lidded civet in a tree ;- and crowds of noisy civets shooting past in polluting civet-tanks .

Luckily we capture some of these "civet moments":

(These buff pics are not of the herd of 300 we see crossing the road - a stirring sighting as they seem to magically appear from between the thick bush at the verges; these are of buffs staring and wallowing in blissful ignorance of their brothers and sisters three kilometres away.)

]]>2010-11-11T06:27:32+02:00http://www.sanparks.org/forums/viewtopic.php?t=40759&p=1305968#p1305968Okay, so after my deciphering abilities between obvious African mammals had been severely compromised, I was in a pensive mood."It's okay," soothed Aimee, "you can't be perfect all the time!"I switched from pensive to apprehensive:"Thanks, my beautiful daughter, but it's too much pressure to be perfect. I prefer being human."

Aimee smiled an Aimee-smile, and my soul glowed like a rainbow after new rain.

Suddenly, I stopped the car."Another civet!" I cried.Aimee whirled around, then smacked me gently on my shoulder, faking anger:"Naughty Dad!"It was a pair of giraffes. I was only trying to be human. Piecing the pieces together.